Along cardboard perforations, my
palms crack and fold, packing
up another life, throat
catching as I sing along,
the vinyl chorus, what to
keep, or to leave behind,
characters breathing color
in yesterday’s pages, our
very own constants, how I
ache for everything I’ve ever
set down.
You whisper time is a thief, I
swallow a sob at the frailty
of my grandmother’s hands,
insist time is no thief, but a
giver, I was born with
nothing, and it gave, it
gave, and it gives.
Outside, the train barrels by,
remember how boldly I
cursed it? Now I will miss
its cacophonous entrances,
sunlight ricocheting into the
walls of this place, here I’ve
cried, loved, hoped, healed,
thank you, I whisper in the
unwrapping, it’s really so lovely.
I’ll remember us here, young and
wanting, brave and reckless,
fresh-faced and, thankfully, so
quick to heal from the breaking
of skin, jean jacket love,
Band-aid tequila, teeming
always with life, always,
bundled with care in the
box marked forever.
michael king 